


Hit Me Baby One More Time

by Riachinko



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: At least not totally, Because they fuckin', Established Relationship, Flogging, M/M, Military Backstory, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 18:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10836627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: LeFou isn't being treated like his fellow soldiers, and he thinks that's unfair. He deserves to be punished, too.





	Hit Me Baby One More Time

There’s a knock at the door, and Gaston stands, opens it to reveal the cherubic face of his longtime companion.

He lets LeFou into his quarters without question. It isn’t irregular, after all, though LeFou typically stays with his fellow soldiers when they’re in the barracks; tries not to encourage the favouritism that Gaston openly displays towards him. It hasn’t been an issue thus far into their deployment, but he gets a hunch from the nervous look plastered on his friend’s face that that may no longer be the case.

“What brings you to me today, _mon chou_?”

LeFou bristles but his face brightens a familiar pink. He enters the room further and Gaston closes the door behind him, watching as LeFou paces back and forth with quick turns on his heel, the floorboards groaning beneath his weight. Finally he chooses a spot in front of Gaston’s cot - a firm wooden frame with his bedroll sprawled messily out on top - and stops.

“Captain--” He brushes a curl of stray hair away from his forehead. “ _Gaston_. You can’t continue this...”

Bewilderment must register across Gaston’s face, for LeFou continues quickly, amending his words.

“Not ‘mon chou’,” he smiles shyly. “The benefits you offer me. At least in front of the others. They single me out. The men _talk_.”

Gaston’s quarters are small but modest, and quite cozy as the sun finds his shoulder, beaming through the one small, barred window in the room. He soaks it in as best as he can - serious conversations so often leaving him cold - while Gaston moves to stand beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“LeFou,” he says, his voice tender but scolding, “don’t let others push you around. Their words can’t hurt you.”

“Yes, well. Their fists can. Gaston, you know I’m not a very good fighter…”

“And yet look where you are: fighting! Because some things are worth fighting for, yes?” He stands tall and proud, with an air of confidence to bolster his friend. “Your country--! Your pride--!”

LeFou puckers his lips and frowns slightly, heavy-lidded eyes avoiding Gaston’s as he listens to the sweet bassy efforts of his best friend. He’s accustomed to Gaston’s nuances - can usually read him effortlessly - but now he’s unsure whether the man is simply missing the point, or just being stubborn..

“Cheer up, LeFou, I’m your captain, and I will defend you,” he speaks airily as he takes a seat on the cot in front of his subordinate.

“That’s exactly the problem,” LeFou says quietly, serious lips beginning to twitch upwards. He keeps his eyes cast downward and away in an attempt to stop his smile from growing.

“So several of your comrades got into trouble, and you’re here because...what? You want to be punished as well?” His voice is amused, sultry; eyes absolutely predatory as they flash conspicuously from LeFou’s face down to his feet. “How shall we fix that?”

“Simply treat me the same as the others.”

“LeFou…” he extends his thick, strong arms. Beautifully-toned muscles flex in tiny quivers beneath his gathered blouse as he grasps at the untucked hem of LeFou’s tunic from beneath his coat. “You’re special to me.”

LeFou wavers, constantly finding himself in too deep, constantly enchanted by his demanding captain. He finds his element as the voice of reason, though, surely not asking too much. He’d only just found out what had happened to several of his friends - and not him - after a night of drinking while on duty, and the injustice had made it difficult for him to sleep.

“Even pets need discipline,” he says softly, eyes flitting down Gaston’s form, sat stiffly before him.

“Your compatriots get a flogging for misbehaviour. Or bucked and gagged,” Gaston’s eyes darken dangerously, “You’d like that?”

LeFou swallows thickly, face flushing, and he can feel the heat reach the tips of his ears. He shifts where he stands and wills his body to remain in control; denies the beginnings of arousal he feels in his gut.

“I was there when they were drinking; I was drunk as well. I didn’t stop them. I deserve to be reprimanded too.”

Gaston draws LeFou closer to him; leans in to press soft lips to LeFou’s stomach, draws teeth across the cotton there. Briefly, LeFou’s eyes dart to his side - the captain's cat o’ nine tails in clear view, strung up on the wall with a nail. It chills him to see it; he’s seen the damage it can cause. Men with their backs striped with blood from its knots, infected if they refuse to salt their wounds.

Soon Gaston’s hands are on him more firmly, rubbing at his legs, upwards, to his thighs, his hips. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of LeFou’s breeches, tugging idly at them.

“You deserve better than that, my friend,” Gaston purrs.

LeFou’s face is red - he just knows it - and he inhales sharply, processing the best course of action. He sighs wistfully in response before finally extending a chapped hand to Gaston’s smooth, dark hair, careful not to muss it.

“Captain,” he coos, “we mustn’t do this here.”

“I know,” his friend groans below him, muffled, face still pressed to LeFou’s stomach. “Why did you have to come to me during the afternoon…”

LeFou chuckles as he attempts to pull away. “Because that’s what normal soldiers do. That’s kind of why I’m here.” His grin grows wider - infectious - and Gaston’s grinning soon too. 

“You’re punishing _me_ , instead of the other way around…”

LeFou bites his lower lip, heart fluttering; in so, so deep. He says nothing in return, opting instead to openly stare at Gaston’s features: his worried brow, the muscle in his forehead that twitches gently. Gaston’s eyes, delicious like dark chocolate.

“Turn around,” the man commands suddenly.

LeFou does as he’s told - because he always has - and feels Gaston’s hands slip past his waist from behind, fingers sliding ghost-like over top of his clothing. He finds the tie at the fly of his breeches, pulling at it with disregard for LeFou’s hum of protest.

He’s getting hard already, embarrassing as it is, and his eyes slip shut. He hadn't realized how much they were stinging with exhaustion until he felt the relief of darkness behind his lids. He rests his hands atop Gaston’s as they work to pull his pants down to his thighs and move to the waistband of his knickers.  
  
“Gaston!” he gasps out, “What if someone comes in..!” 

Gaston stands, then, exhaling sharply through his nose. He doesn’t look at LeFou as he takes long strides past him, boots stomping against the floorboards, making too much noise, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s annoyed. He slides the chain against the slit on the door to lock it, and turns quickly to take his place once again on the cot.

His eyes burn with ferocity when LeFou glances down into them.

“There,” he huffs. “Turn.”

And LeFou does it, once more; can feel Gaston’s forehead rest against the small of his back. Can feel his palms against his hip bones, dipping again back into his knickers, fingers dancing against the trail of hair LeFou has growing from his bellybutton to his groin.

Gaston tugs his knickers down to meet the pants that sit nestled at his thighs. LeFou stands exposed and aroused, breath shallow, but Gaston mentions nothing of it.

“Lay across my lap,” he says simply, and again, LeFou complies.

LeFou is short, but he isn’t small, and it’s an awkward fit, lying with his chest against Gaston’s right leg, his hip resting on Gaston’s left, and his belly against the cot in between. His cock strains for attention through it all, pressing uncomfortably against Gaston’s leg as well, but he’s too afraid to move to stir up friction.

“You’re not going to use the switch?” LeFou finally chirps out, voice tense.

“No,” the man states blankly, shifting their weights on the bed together until he’s comfortable and satisfied with their position.

They spend an agonizing moment in silence.

And then - without warning - Gaston delivers a harsh smack to LeFou’s backside.

“Jesus Christ--!”

LeFou can feel Gaston’s gut vibrate against him as he snickers, but before he has time to register what to say or how to react, Gaston’s hand hits him firmly again, and all he can focus on are the spots of light invading his vision, and that foreign, searing pain.

“General misconduct,” Gaston begins, voice level and calm, “can earn three to twelve lashes.” He smoothes his hand over the burgeoning pink in LeFou’s buttocks as he speaks. “But this is considerably more pleasant than a lashing with a switch, believe me. So LeFou, how many lashes do you think you deserve for disorderly drunkenness?”

LeFou’s mind reels.

Gaston’s giving him the opportunity to choose his own punishment - or so it would seem - and he’s at a loss of what to do. He doesn’t want to ask for too few...and he certainly doesn’t want to ask for too many, if two is already stinging like hell.

All the while, Gaston’s caressing his ass. It's nearly impossible to pick a number when he's so grossly intoxicated by Gaston’s simple touch. He’s used to it, of course - the vague intimacy that Gaston showers him with when they’re alone. But Gaston is always quick and rough, and though now it follows being hit, this touch seems almost...loving?

“S-Seven?” he tries softly.

It seems to LeFou to be a solid compromise, and Gaston hums in reply.

“Very well.”

His hand raises back parallel his head, and LeFou squeezes his eyes shut tight, preemptively flinching, and a split second later, Gaston’s big, strong hand is once more connecting sharply with his left buttock. Twice in quick succession followed by a brief moment of relief while he smooths his hand back and forth across LeFou’s heated skin.

LeFou whines - loudly - and breathes erratically. He clasps his hands over his mouth, tries so hard to be quiet - to accept the very punishment he’s asked for. The room, as well, has thin walls, and he worries about a curious soldier listening in. Without visual context, he must sound wretched - but even then, a visual might be worse.

He’d lost his erection once Gaston had begun the torture; pain and shock replacing any bit of arousing stimulation he’d received by simply being pressed against his partner. But now, to his great horror, he finds himself getting hard again. Gaston’s soothing ministrations mixed with a wild adrenaline rush making for a toxin potent enough to get drunk from all over again.

Another _smack_!

“That’s three, LeFou,” Gaston’s voice rumbles above him. “Would you like to count out the remaining four?”

LeFou hangs his head, faintly shaking it no, hands still clasped tightly at his mouth. He doesn't think he has it in him to talk. What is he supposed to say?

“No?” Gaston scoffs.

“N-no! I-- ah, I guess?” His reply is barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Captain?” Gaston corrects with yet another smack; LeFou’s hips jitter against him. “That one was given for free. Would you like to count the remaining three?”

With another flinch, rocking his body tightly against Gaston’s lap, LeFou chokes out a pathetic, “Yes Captain--!”

Gaston kneads small circles against LeFou’s flesh with his thumb. The tenderness he displays sends a chill up LeFou’s spine. Everything about this feels so alien.

He rubs the back of LeFou’s legs, his thighs; stroking and petting, finally digs nails shallowly against LeFou’s skin. His fingertips leave white stripes against the redness of his ass, which Gaston seems to appreciate, because he hums softly, happily, and reaches a hand over to stroke LeFou’s hair - still bound in a ribbon, but falling looser with every sharp jerk and slap.

“And when I’m finished with those three, how many shall I give you for questioning your Captain in the first place?”

“G-Gaston…” LeFou huffs, mouth opening and closing uselessly. He feels like a dead fish. His eyes continue to sting, but this time it’s because of unfallen tears, involuntarily forming in the corners of his eyes. “Five?” he rasps quietly.

“We have to have you put some effort into this,” Gaston muses, “since this is what you wanted. We’ll make it another seven. That’s a nice, even ten for you to count to.”

He looks peaceful. Completely calm in the situation. It isn’t fair, and LeFou lowers his head -  chin, hitting Gaston’s leg - and whimpers. He’s still hard. How; _why_ is he still so horny? He swallows thickly.

A hand moves to prod at LeFou’s rosy cheek, running a finger over the comet trail of a tear that’s betrayed LeFou by falling when he spoke. The opposite hand smacks LeFou’s bare ass again, and without even thinking about it, the word spills from LeFou’s pouting lips.

“One--!”

Gaston’s chest wells with pride, excitement. LeFou can tell that he’s stopped breathing - holding a breath - and when he dares to glance up at him through his thick lashes, he can see Gaston’s tongue dart across smirking lips. His eyes are glazed over with and dark with lust. His cock twitches against LeFou’s stomach, and LeFou reels, dying to say something. To ask Gaston to just get it over with and fuck him already, but he thinks better of it.

Gaston spanks him again, a bit lower than what he’s experienced, and LeFou lets out a strangled cry of “Two--!”

Gaston’s hand sweeps lower down his legs now; past his thigh to just above his knees, and back up with another hard spank.

“Three--!”

“Good boy,” Gaston chuckles softly. “Relax, you’re almost finished.”

He goes faster this time, a thunderstorm of skin hitting skin, three successive slaps to the ass on varying cheeks, LeFou counting each of them aloud through gritted teeth. The resulting dance of fingertips against his backside soothes LeFou’s nerves, makes him shiver and sob quietly to himself.

He’s a mess and he loves it.

“Four more, LeFou. You can do it for me, can’t you?” Gaston purrs.

He’s drooling, tears won’t stop overflowing. His nose is running and he hates that hair has fallen into his face, millimetres away from getting stuck in snot and tears. He’s leaking against Gaston’s leg, the slip of sweat and precum familiar to him by now. He nods quickly, desperately, _keep going_.

LeFou nods in agreeance and chokes out a word that maybe sounds like “Yes,” though it’s punctuated with sniffles and sounds a hundred times more undignified than he’s sure he’s ever sounded.

One more crack against his backside draws out “Seven!” and LeFou can barely catch his breath. He sobs openly now, “Eight!” when Gaston hits him again.

“You’re doing well,” Gaston says softly, cheerily, “I’m proud of how well you’re taking this.”

LeFou absorbs the praise, both surprised and ecstatic that Gaston said he was _proud_ . Of someone - or something - other than _himself_. His heart hammers in his chest as he takes large gulps of air in the quiet moment where Gaston’s hand is soothing the prickles under his skin.

Gaston’s arm doesn’t raise as high, and - “Nine!” - doesn’t hit as hard. He rubs LeFou immediately afterwards, rather than continues to the final smack. His cock is throbbing against LeFou’s stomach, hips jolting just barely against him for friction. LeFou’s body is shuddering and shaking against Gaston’s lap, stressed, yearning to feel every bit of Gaston pressed against him. And they stay like that for an agonizing minute.

“Last one,” Gaston whispers, “shout it for me.”

 _Smack_!

“Ten!!”

His throat feels dry, raw, as he cries out the last number loudly - much more loudly than he knows is responsible. If they were ever caught like this--

But ah, the finality of it all is blissful, and LeFou allows himself to slump against his captain; every previously-tensed muscle slacking. He still sniffles and sobs, but now he can feel Gaston stroking his hair, massaging his shoulders with one hand and caressing LeFou’s bright red ass with the other.

“I--” LeFou starts feebly, “I need you to…please, Gaston..?”

Gaston regards his friend with heavy lidded eyes and that usual, an impish smirk of his.

The sun has filtered its way into Gaston’s quarters even more now, and LeFou regrets how much clothing he still has on. His coat rides his shoulders uncomfortably in this position, constricting what little movement he’s tried. He’s sticky with sweat and overheated; probably dehydrated. He isn’t crying anymore. The sun gives the room a comforting softness, and all he can think of is rolling over onto the cot with Gaston on top of him, fucking him into the blankets and the warmth of the sheets.

Everything feels like a dream. At least, until Gaston speaks.

“What is it that you want, _mon chou_?”

LeFou hums, eyes slipping shut, willing fantasy to become reality.

“Fuck me,” he purrs.

The large, domineering hand of his captain leaves his backside then; fingers still tangled in his hair, but stopping dead. He shifts his knee to urge LeFou to stand, and he hasn’t got a choice but to comply when his balance is thrown so far off.

He gets his footing before he can topple to the floorboards, and Gaston stares down at him, lips pressed together in a straight line. He’s still got those devious, half-lidded eyes, sparkling with desire and arrogance.

“I don’t do that kind of thing with regular soldiers,” he sneers.

And LeFou is absolutely gobsmacked.

He can see the evidence of Gaston’s arousal clear as day, pressing tightly against the fly of his trousers. Yet he stares LeFou down, far more patient than LeFou has ever seen him, unbudging from his statement.

He stands, and LeFou stands too - scrambles to his feet hastily, and he knows he looks ridiculous, cock bobbing against his gut, ass red and sore - and Gaston fixes LeFou’s hair the best he can without having to untie the ribbon and rebrush it. It feels intimate, in that loving way that LeFou balked at before. Likewise, he removes his handkerchief and cleans LeFou’s face, holding it against his underling’s nose for him to blow.

The colour in his face matches the colour of his backside, LeFou’s sure of it.

Gaston reaches forward slightly and grabs hold of LeFou’s knickers and breeches, careful not to touch the other’s softening erection. He begins to tug them up to LeFou’s waist, but LeFou takes a step backwards and snatches them from Gaston.

“I can do it,” he snaps.

“Let’s not hear anything more about how I dole out punishment around here, hm? Are we agreeable?”

LeFou breathes deeply, slowly. He’s vexed, can’t bear disobeying Gaston for now; he realizes now, with the scrape of fabric across his backside, how much pain he’s in. He simply frowns with his head tilted down, like he’s a child being reprimanded by his father. He returns his friend’s glare through his dark lashes and heads towards the door as Gaston extends his arm, showing him the way.

“Tuck that thing under your waistband or something, will you?” is the last thing Gaston says before LeFou unchains the door and takes his leave, shutting the door with a slam behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Duders! Chat with me on Twitter: riachinko or Tumblr: rudigerblues/riankoworks ⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )


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